


Under A Yellow Light

by phantomreviewer



Series: Delilah’s Stolen Scissors And Other Tales [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The face looking back at her in the mirror is determined and cunning, and Éponine is determined to find herself within it. And she’s not going to stop until she finds the girl that she wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under A Yellow Light

She’s being watched with suspicious eyes, but while the security guard has a heavy brow and a thick untrusting frown on his face, Éponine is quick and has practiced her art well.

In the space of his turn and blink she has the vacuum packed package up and under her over-sized jumper and tucked into the hem of her trousers. 

He’s still glaring at her, but her eyes are shrewd and her grin is positively wicked.

And yet he doesn’t question her as she walks out of the shop with a spring in her step that she doesn’t feel in her heart.

She can’t even feel her heart any more. No deep crack within it, nor an absence space within her. Just, nothingness. But that doesn’t matter, because she has what she came for and a Thénardier always get what they want. 

Ripping into the plastic packaging with her teeth in a disgusting public toilet makes her mouth bleed, but she’s had far worse, and soon she has the freed scissors in her spittle soaked and bloodied palm.

The drops the plastic packaging on the piss coloured floor.

What’s one more bit of rubbish in a place like this?

She didn’t need to steal them. There is no lack of scissors or knives in her household; she’s got a penknife attached to her keys and even little Gavroche has been known to keep a screwdriver in his pocket when he takes to the streets for days at a time. But it’s symbolic, she supposes. A fresh new start and she could have even bought her escape – she has the money for it- , but then she wouldn’t be Éponine. And regardless of everything else in her life, she will always be Éponine.

She has herself for when the world has failed her.

The elastic band is tight around her wrist, and she snaps it into her hair.

The painful tug feels good.

There is no one else in the ramshackle ladies and Éponine doesn’t care at all. The stalls could be filled with bustling women, pissing, shitting, smoking or having sex and Éponine wouldn’t bat an eyelid. She’s only here because of the mirror. She has some pride in her work, and she can’t bear to do this at home.

A fresh start.

Snapping the scissors, once, twice, she grabs her ponytail in one hand and the scissors in the other.

Her hands do not shake.

The face looking back at her in the mirror is determined and cunning, and Éponine is determined to find herself within it. And she’s not going to stop until she finds the girl that she wants to be. She doesn’t think of Marius. This isn’t about how Marius had once complimented the curl of her hair against her olive skin, and it isn’t about how her mother had used to brush it for her when she was young. It wasn’t about how Montparnasse used to tug violently at it when he thought that she wasn’t doing it right, and it isn’t about how her father hadn’t recognised her, the one time that she’d had it styled professionally, and had called her a slut. No. This is about Éponine and about the face in the mirror.

It is easier than she expected it to be to let the scissors crunch into her once precious hair. The noise is satisfying, and it’s like watching a film to see the figure in the mirror snip and snip and snip away.

The ponytail comes free in her hand, and for only a moment she doesn’t know what to do with it, looking down at it as though it were an alive thing that needed her protection.

But the only one that will ever get Éponine’s protection is Éponine herself and she drops it in the sink.

Then there is only the noise of the snip of the scissors, so close to the skin of her neck that Éponine can feel their coldness – it makes her smile, low and dangerous, like a tiger in the darkness- and her own gentle breathing. There is enough harshness in the world, and the prickle of cut hair against the nape of her neck tickles.

It’s short, much shorter than she thought that it would end up.

She likes it.

She leaves the scissors in the neighbouring sink. They’ve done their purpose now, and she smiles at her reflection in the mirror.

She looks like herself and she is happy. 

Taking up the discarded hair she takes one last look at the freedom she has sheared into herself. 

Her grin is still sly and her eyes are still wild, and she is free.

She wants to throw her hair into the Seine.

And that’s just what she’s going to do.

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing Éponine in any depth. And somewhat inspired by Sam Bark's portrayal of her during One Day More.


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